Heroes
by Memo
Summary: In dark times, the wizarding world has Harry to symbolize hope for the future. But behind the legendary heroism and courage lies a boy who's broken and vulnerable. Who'll help him mend his soul? Ron or Draco? **SLASH** r/r please?


Title: Heroes  
Author: Memo  
  
Disclaimers: Of course I own them. THEY'RE ALL MINE!!!! And yes, I'm a skinny little liar. Lyrics for "Lullaby For A Sleepy Girlfriend" belong to 1140 Mississippi because I can't write my own songs or poems worth sh*t.  
  
Warnings: SLASH!! Angst galore. References to NCS, torture and general abuse. Did I mention angst? Featuring EmotionallyFuckedUp!Harry. ^_^ This fic is gonna be a whole lot morbid and depressing before it gets a hopeful ending. I'm a happy-ending-type-of-person, so if you stay with me and read this fic until the end, I PROMISE you a "...hand-in-hand, they all skipped off into the sunset" type of happy ending--Er...figuratively speaking. ^___^v (and don't forget to REVIEW! I'm thus a plant which thrives on thy feedback! Hence, feed me, so I may bloometh and stop sounding corny! errr...yeah. -_-)  
  
Spoilers: GoF, hell, all of the first four books...but some were direct quotes from the fourth book..you'll know what I mean when you recognize the part...  
  
Pairing: slight Ron/Harry; Draco/Harry   
  
Rating: R   
  
Summary: In dark times, the wizarding world has Harry to symbolize hope for the future. But behind the legendary heroism and courage lies a boy who's broken and vulnerable. Who'll help him mend his soul? Ron or Draco? **SLASH**  
  
//Denotes thoughts//  
  
  
=o=o=o=o=o=o=  
  
[3rd person--Draco's POV]  
  
September 2nd. First day of school in Malfoy's fifth year. The first class of which being Double Defense Against the Dark Arts for the Gryffindors and Slytherins. Students have been informed that the change in curriculum has resulted in the two rival houses being paired up in classes more often than they'd like.  
  
Bloody brilliant.   
  
Draco strode into the classroom in a foul mood, his companions Crabbe and Goyle hulking shadows in his wake. Sneering at the Gryffindors already seated and chattering expectantly, //--Brown, Patil, Thomas, Longbottom, Granger and Weasley--funny, Potter's not around to complete the Dream Team--//, he made his way towards one of the desks at the back.  
  
Five minutes later found the rest of the Slytherins and Gryffindors in their seats, //--except Potter. That's strange--come to think of it, he wasn't on the train--//, and their professor, Mad-Eye Moody (the real one this time), making his way to the front of the class, wooden leg a-clumping.   
  
The class fell silent and the lessons began.  
  
Potter never showed up.  
  
===  
  
[3rd person--Flashback in Ron's POV--Triwizard Tournament]  
  
A fourteen year-old Ronald Weasley lay in his bed, his mind in turmoil. It was an hour past midnight and he was wondering where his best fri--  
  
//--EX-best friend--// he corrected himself with gritted teeth--  
  
Well, he was wondering where Harry was.   
  
//Well, I shouldn't be bothering with this, damn it. He thinks he's so great, getting all the attention for being a Hogwarts champion. To him getting into the tournament is one big game, one big step towards publicity and getting more admirers, not that he hasn't got enough stalkers as it is... I thought we're best friends, that we'd do things together--//  
  
Ah, there it is. Ron's Problem. He missed his best friend and all the adventures they usually shared.  
  
//Why I'd miss him though, that's the question. I certainly wouldn't want to be around him and his inflating ego. Always the hero, always so great, everything seems to happen to him, he gets all the recognition while I get punted into the shadows, after all I'm only Ron Weasley, the Weasel, his supposed best friend--//  
  
But jealous as Ron was, he *did* miss Harry. As much as he liked Hermione, being around her just wasn't the same as having Harry's companionship. For all that Hermione means so much to him, she just wasn't funny enough, or carefree enough, and she certainly just wasn't Harry. Hermione didn't appreciate his sarcasm and sense of humour the way Harry did... she sometimes just couldn't replicate nor *understand* the type of camaraderie you share with a male friend.  
  
And damn it, where the hell could he be?  
  
Giving an irritated sigh, Ron tossed the covers aside and made his way towards the door and down the staircase. He quickened his pace down the steps when he heard urgent whisperings in the common room. Then, silence.   
  
//Hell. They must have heard me. So much for stealthy snooping.// He was just inside the common room now, and facing Harry, who stood across the room and in front of the fireplace.  
  
Ron looked around, trying to locate the owner of the second voice he could've sworn he heard. "Who were you talking to?" he finally decided to ask.  
  
"What's that got to do with you?" Harry fairly snarled. "What are you doing down here at this time of the night?"   
  
Ron's eyes widened in shock. He'd never heard Harry use that tone of voice on *anyone* before. To think that it was directed at *him* made his gut clench and his throat tighten in an unpleasant emotion. Before he could stop himself, Ron started to stutter, "I just wondered where you--" He broke off, angry at himself for admitting it. He shrugged, trying to regain his composure. "Nothing. I'm going back to bed."  
  
He never expected Harry's outburst. "Just thought you'd come nosing around, did you?" //He's really angry--he only ever raises his voice when he's upset--// Ron almost stepped back at the expression on Harry's face. He'd never seen Harry so furious before. //--and he's mad at ME. All I did was walk into the room and ask who he was talking to-- I should be hating his guts right now and HE gets pissed off when all I've been doing is worry?! How *dare* he?! Bastard. Damn you, Harry!//  
  
"Sorry about that," said Ron, his face reddening with indignation. "Should've realised you didn't want to be disturbed. I'll let you get on with practicing for your next interview in peace." As he finished the last sentence, he wondered if maybe he's gone too far. If Harry's expression before was furious, then now, the look on his face was deadly.  
  
Harry seized one of the POTTER REALLY STINKS badges off the table and chucked it, as hard as he could, across the room. It hit Ron on the forehead and bounced off. Despite the pain the impact caused, Ron stood stock still, stunned beyond belief. He almost didn't hear what Harry said next.  
  
"There you go," said Harry. "Something for you to wear on Tuesday. You might even have a scar now, if you're lucky... that's what you want, isn't it?"  
  
And then Harry was gone.  
  
Slowly, very slowly, Ron bent to pick up the badge. He studied it, the bold words emblazoned in his mind, and Harry's last words ringing in his ears in time with his pounding headache.   
  
/"--might even have a scar now... that's what you want, isn't it?"/  
  
He clenched the badge in one fist.  
  
/"--that's what you want, isn't it?--"/  
  
//NO!// He thought vehemently. //I don't want to BE you!//  
  
But then, what DID he want? Ron swallowed thickly, anger and surprise being quickly overpowered by a great deal of hurt and a tiny bit of guilt.  
  
/"Just thought you'd come nosing around, did you?"/  
  
//But you used to tell me everything... we used to tell each other everything...//  
  
What *did* he want?  
  
He wanted his best friend.  
  
Ron wasn't the least bit surprised with this realization; he's most likely known all along and just denied it. Curling his lanky frame into one of the common room arm chairs, he allowed the bitter tears to shed.   
  
And on that night, crying silently over the friendship he ruined and the comfort he craved, Ron fell into a tortured sleep on his arm chair and didn't return to bed.  
  
[end flashback]  
  
===  
  
[Shrieking Shack--September 2nd--Ronald Weasley and Draco Malfoy's Fifth Year]  
  
A large shaggy black dog silently made its way up the dusty staircases of the house. It quickened its pace when it heard a whimper from one of the bedrooms.  
  
There in the corner of the room, on an old matress lay a boy of fifteen, the expression on his face one of torment as he twisted in his sleep. The dog quickly padded over to nuzzle a wet nose on the oblivious boy's cheek. Its pale eyes never left the boy as the dog backed off, and with a slight pop, Sirius Black materialized and watched his godson worriedly. He put a gentle hand to the boy's temple, murmuring reassurances ever-so-softly, in the hopes that the child might be pulled from whatever was plaguing his sleep.  
  
For a seeming eternity still, Harry continued to thrash around and cry out occasionally. Sirius, at a loss of what else to do, followed his instincts and gathered the boy in his arms, tenderly rocking him as he would do to a distressed baby. The action brought forth a long-forgotten memory of Lily Potter slowly pacing the nursery, singing her infant son to sleep while James and Sirius watched silently from the doorway. James had placed a hand on his shoulder then, and had whispered quietly, "Watch and learn, Padfoot. You'll never know when we might call on you to babysit the kid."  
  
Sirius had immaturely made a face and laughed silently, but continued to watch the baby fondly.  
  
Now, fourteen years later, Padfoot blinked back frustrated tears as he began to sing, "Hush now my baby/ Hush now my love/ The angels are watching/ From heaven above/ They know that I love you/ They know that it´s true/ I´ll stay here beside you/ Whatever you do..."   
  
===  
  
"...I'll stay here beside you/ Whatever you do/ When I wake beside you..."  
  
Devil's Snare. He remembered it from first year, how vines would wind around you. He tried not to move, really, he did. Tried to relax and stay still this time, but one word, from a hissing voice, whispering, "Crucio.."  
  
God. So much pain his body can't help but writhe and convulse in the hopes of escaping it. The pain didn't--couldn't--end until he gave in to what his tormentor was asking of him. And god, he so wanted the pain to end but he couldn't give in! Would never give in. He hurt everywhere and his head felt like it was being torn into shreds; ripping skin, skull and grey matter, starting from his scar and zig-zagging its way towards the back of his brain. His torture intensified at the feel of the plant twisting it vines tighter around him, squeezing him, crushing the air and life out of him as the curse made his eyes roll to the back of his head.   
  
The conscious part of his mind decided for the moment that somehow he'd forgotten his name, who he was, where he came from, where he should be and who was doing this to him. All he knew at that time was white-hot agony and pure undiluted pain. The unconscious part of his mind dimly wondered if this was the way one goes insane. And then he heard music.  
  
"...I feel like I shine/ I wish you forever/ And ever be mine..."   
  
Faint words of a lullaby. He hung limply in the embrace of the plant's serpentine limbs, barely aware that he can breathe again, take in great big gulps of precious air, and that the pain was slowly ebbing away. So intent was he on trying to hear the music that he barely noticed the moment the Cruciatus Curse was lifted off him.  
  
"...A new day tomorrow/ When you open your eyes..."  
  
He knew that voice, somewhow. It would sing to him when he needed to hear it the most; he would curl up in his dark and lonely cupboard and hear the same lullaby being hummed in his dreams. The lilting voice brought with it the faint memories of a woman's perfume, cradling arms and tender fingertips on his cheeks. It was the same voice that urged him not to break the connection, that night in the graveyeard, whispering lovingly in his ear amidst ethereal phoenix music...  
  
It was his mother.  
  
"...You let in the sunshine/ And all darkness dies..."  
  
The boy realized with a start that the song was coming to its end, and that the music was fading away. He tried to call out to her, but he was still gasping for air, and no matter how he tried he couldn't seem to get his throat to work.  
  
And then came a flash of golden light //--memories of her dark red hair, summer, warmth, lazy afternoon sunlight--// and calling out to her didn't seem to matter anymore. She was gone. His tormentor was gone. The devil's snare retreated from the sudden brightness, only to be replaced by another embrace, this one comforting, consisting of warm flesh hidden behind the sleeves of someone's familiar black robes.  
  
Harry looked up in confusion. "Sirius?" He croaked in a harsh whisper, surprised that he could speak at all.  
  
His godfather's relieved face gazed down at him as he continued to rock the youth back and forth. "Just rest, Harry. Go back to sleep."  
  
Too exhausted to argue, Harry closed his eyes and knew no more.  
  
-----to be continued-----  
  
=o=o=o=o=o=o=  
  
A/N: So the fic started off as a lot more soap-opera-ish and cliched and cheesier than I intended. *sighs ruefully* And I know it doesn't make sense yet, but hopefully it'll all come together as more parts get posted... there *is* a plot [i hope], just wait for it... :)   
  
REVIEW please!!! Memo The Carnivorous Review Plant needs to get fed. ^_______^;;;; Unlike Devil's Snare, I don't shrink from flames. I think flames're too bright, they light up my day! Well, erm..not really asking to get flamed, but I think flames are amusing...  
  
Thanks for reading. 


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